


Mistake

by dasyuridae



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, like one mention of oikawa, short lil thang, welcome to fluff hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:59:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasyuridae/pseuds/dasyuridae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kageyama Tobio was eleven when he started to think that maybe he was a mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing about 60 things at once plus school plus underwater hockey so I've haven't posted anything in forever. I just wrote this little thing so I could feel like I'm actually writing something :T but ayy come chat to me on [tumblr](www.volleyball-boyfriends.tumblr.com) and tell me to get off my ass and write.

Kageyama Tobio was eleven when he started to think that maybe he was a mistake.

He heard it in the way his parents argued, the way their clenched fists and sharp voices made something clench in his heart, a slowly contracting steel band.  
He heard it in the way they waved him off when he tried to tell them about his latest game, his latest success, his latest failure.  
He heard it in the way he sobbed under his duvet in the middle of the night and heard them walk past his door, pause, and keep on walking.  
He heard it in the way his mother left, bag slung angrily over her shoulder, slamming the door behind her.  
He heard it in the simpering voices of the women his father brought home, the way they treated him, trying to get on his father’s good side.  
And he told himself he’d never, ever, love someone like they did.

Kageyama Tobio was twelve when he started to think no one wanted him around.

He could see it in Oikawa’s jeering and his patronising sneers.  
He could see it in the way the rest of his team ignored him, preferring their other, kinder friends.  
He could see it in the way he ate lunch alone, store bought bento his father had been too lazy to make perched on his knees.  
He could see it in his classmate’s conversations about karaoke and parties, while his spare time was spent tossing a volleyball to himself.  
And he told himself to take matters into his own hands, and not care what other people thought of him.

Kageyama Tobio was fourteen when he knew he’d been right all along.

He heard it in the suddenly deafening thud of the volleyball on the court.  
He heard it in the mutters of his teammates, of the spectators who lined the walls.  
He heard it in his coach’s muted voice, his disappointment and his guilt.  
He heard it in his own breathless sobs when he woke from one of the nightmares that had become all too common.  
He heard it in his father’s flippant dismissal of his loss, a game he’d been too busy with work to come and watch.  
And he told himself he’d never allow himself to trust anyone again.

Kageyama Tobio was sixteen when he started to think maybe he’d been wrong.

He saw it in Hinata’s grin, and the way he laughed when Kageyama fumbled his way over a compliment.  
He saw it in the way he called for another toss, face bright with happiness and exhilaration.  
He saw it in the way they walked home together, feet scuffing on the concrete and mouths stained with pork bun.  
He saw it in their arguments even, their calls of dumbass and idiot and the way afterwards he felt like he might be more comfortable than he ever had been.  
He saw it when at midnight his cheeks would red, thinking about the way Hinata had smiled at him that day, like sunshine.  
And he reminded himself of the promises he made, and said to himself that he’d never admit it.

Kageyama Tobio is eighteen when he thinks that maybe he can be loved.

He hears it in the way Hinata greets him in the morning, fluffy hair tickling his chin.  
He hears it in the soft kisses that he places on his head, smelling the shampoo he’s now all too familiar with.  
He hears it in the whispers of his ~~teammates~~ friends, the proud whispers, the whispers that say we’re happy for you.  
He hears it in the calls of ‘one more!’ across the court, a call that he responds to like it’s second nature, a call that ends in the perfect spike.  
He hears it in the slap of their hands after a good game, the way they extend the contact for longer than they need to, twine their fingers together and smile.  
And he realises that maybe he never really had a choice.


End file.
